GunShot
by SariauChan
Summary: A gunshot broke the silence in the old abandoned warehouse. A thin man collapsed to the ground tightly holding his fresh wound on his forearm, trying to slow the bleeding, and failing to. Great… Sherlock thought. Now I'm going to die without anyone knowing I'm still alive. But maybe it was better this way… His eyes ripped open at the sound of footsteps coming closer. TWO-SHOT
1. Part One

**Part One:**

A gunshot broke the silence in the old abandoned warehouse. A thin man collapsed to the ground tightly holding his fresh wound on his forearm, trying to slow the bleeding, and failing to. _Great_, Sherlock thought. _Now I'm going to die without anyone knowing I am still alive. But maybe it is_ _better that way_… His eyes shot en at the sound of footsteps coming closer.

John appeared from the shadows, wearing a professional three-piece suit, and sprinted closer when he realized the state his friend was in. "What the hell, Sherlock?!" He started to loosen the tie from his neck, yanking it roughly over his head to get it off.

Sherlock twisted around at an awkward angle to be sure he hadn't mistaken that voice. His eyes widened when he recognized the familiar silhouette of his former flat-mate. "John," He said, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" John asked rhetorically. "Faking your death?" John secured his tie above the wound in Sherlock's arm with one hand while the other hovered over his gun as he checked his surroundings. "Mycroft already explained everything to me a few months after your stupid stunt."

"Of course he did." Sherlock huffed as he pushed himself into a sitting position, checking his arm after the slight dizziness passed. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." John avoided Sherlock's eyes. "I've been looking for you all over the world, you know." He glanced back at the door he came through. "Can you run?"

"I… I think so." Sherlock was still a bit stunned by the situation. He managed to get up but was quite wobbly. _You were searching for me?_ He thought, looking at John as he scanned everything nearby.

"Course I was." Sherlock jumped, having realized he had spoken his thoughts again. If John noticed his small leap from the ground, he didn't mention it. "I kept thinking up more and more horrible things that could be happening to you." John looked over the bullet wound again and pursed his lips at whatever he was thinking.

"Wanna bet that half of them happened?" Sherlock tried to joke, but he had no idea of how it would be taken. Humor wasn't really his strength; give him a murder investigation any day.

John started creeping ahead of him towards where he had appeared. "Held captive by terrorists?" he whispered behind him.

"Yes, Sherlock replied, following after him. "But not for long." He was a little slower than John, and had the feeling he might trip before he reached the wall. Sherlock looked around the warehouse. It was too quiet. Why hadn't they taken a second shot? Were they trying to fool them into a false sense of security? Judging by the way John was holding his gun, he had noticed as well.

Then John's "Attacked by sharks?" crashed his train of thought to a crashing halt.

Sherlock looked at his face to see if he was serious. It was such an odd thing to imagine, and John had probably only brought it up to distract him. "No… Luckily not." He replied with a little smirk.

"Well, you've already jumped off a building, so have you run into any poisonous snakes?" They both paused at the door.

"Yeah, once." Sherlock chuckled softly, still keeping in mind that this was a dangerous situation, but… Then again, he hadn't had a real, honest conversation for a long while, and it was a nice change. There was a crunch of someone stepping on gravel and three muffled voices by the wooden door.

John stepped back a few silent paces and gestured for Sherlock to move out of the way with his gun. Sherlock moved well out of range, not feeling bad or sorry for the people who were about to get shot. He could feel the blood loss making him weaker by the minute, but right now he had to stay strong, for John. He silently watched John aim and fire.

Three gunshots later, John pushed himself through the splintered wood, and ran towards the only vehicle, with Sherlock behind him trying to keep up. Sherlock stopped halfway to the truck to catch his breath. He saw John in the driver's seat pushing the door open, the man's face was tense and pale, and John's eyes were trained on something near the building they had just escaped from. Sherlock was about to rush towards the car again when another gunshot rang out.

It hit its target.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two:**

John's gun was pointed at the silhouette of the man that will take Sherlock's life too late, he had already pulled the trigger. His hand was steady, and his leg didn't hurt. John ran out of the car to Sherlock. "Come on, let's go." He said.

But Sherlock couldn't. The bullet had hit his heart, and he'd lost too much blood already. The thin man with dark curly hair was going to die anyway. Sherlock's face seemed peaceful as he whispered his final words. "Goodbye John."

And John sat there, with Sherlock in his arms. _No_. He thought. _No, this had to be another trick!_ John tried to shake his friend awake. He didn't realize that noise of someone screaming was himself -that his throat was getting sore. But he continued to curse the heavens as loud as he could, staining his suit with warm redness, with Sherlock's blood.

The sun was rising above the horizon, painting everything in a warm color. But Sherlock was so cold. John placed the nozzle of his gun up at his chin. He smiled at Sherlock, "Goodbye, I'll see you soon." He pulled the trigger.

* * *

John jumped awake in the uncomfortable plastic chair. But calmed himself when he saw Sherlock tapping away at a laptop on the hospital bed. "Nightmare." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." John replied, his heart still beating faster than a humming bird's wings.

Sherlock hummed, his back straight, and glanced away from the computer to John the same way as when they had first met. He sniffed and continued typing onto the keyboard. It was a new part of Sherlock's body language that John didn't know, but that was to be expected, to loose and add things to one's life. But John just couldn't imagine Sherlock changing in any way, even if it was natural for everyone.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Sherlock asked back, not losing speed in his typing for a moment.

"What did you observe?" John pushed after a few moments of silence.

Sherlock took a breath before he was off. "The way you searched for me immediately after you woke up proves I was involved in this nightmare, possibly because I was injured, more likely I died somehow. I'm fine, by the way, I only need to convince the people at this hospital then we can leave. You checked for your gun right after that tells me that the nightmare was a battle of some sort -you left it in the car, by the way. Speaking of the car, it is a rental, and knowing you, you would buy the car if you were going to stay in this area because it would have been a better deal. That and the fact that you had said you had been traveling around the world looking for me concluded that portion of the observation. The quality of the suit you're wearing is much higher than that of what you used to wear, and your blatant disregard of caring for it, even now when the situation is comfortable shows how you have gotten used to wearing such clothing and perhaps the funds capable of supporting such luxuries. The outline of your phone is also quite telling, it is a different phone than the one your sister gave to you. In fact, it looks to be same kind of phone that Mycroft special orders for his employees." Sherlock breathed in with a selfsatisfied look on his face.

"Amazing." John had said after absorbing Sherlock's string of fast moving words. "Spot on, even."

Sherlock hummed again, and the two sat together in comfortable silence, only interrupted by the poor nurses that had to deal with the high functioning sociopath's glare.

"Have you jumped out of a perfectly good plane?" John asked suddenly, reminding Sherlock of the bet he had made before his shot to his leg -not his chest, John reminded himself-, his dramatic line, and following unconsciousness.

He quirked a playful smirk. "Now John, that would be telling."

**_((This story is complete... For now. I don't really have an idea of where it would go, but if you have an idea, drop me a review, and I'll see what I can do! _****_I would also like to thank fionapondwilliams, you know who you are. So here it is: THANKYOUSOVERYVERYVERYMUCH!))_**


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